Under the Moonlight
by Mashiara91
Summary: "It's called Xeroderma pigmentosum. It means I can't go out in the sun or I'll burn to death. And that doesn't mean that I go around sucking people's blood, or eating them, or cursing them, or whatever other nonsense is going around these days!" Kid!lock Teen!lock - Enjoy!
1. Chapter 1

John was only eight years old when he found himself lost in the woods near his uncle's house. People said that the woods were haunted and mothers would scare their kids with the tale of the ghost child who lived there, waiting to eat them at night if they did anything wrong. John never believed the stories… until he ran right into them.

John had been lost for a while. He and his mother had been vacationing at her hometown all summer, but it was only tonight that John had dared venture out to explore the woods. And, as the sun dipped its giant head beyond the horizon, he had to remind himself that he was not scared. Just because he started running faster, doesn't mean he was scared.

Then, when he tripped in the dark and cut his knee against a rough rock, he just dusted himself off and kept going. He tried to calm himself after that, shaking his head and trying to remember which way he'd come from. So he was moving a lot more cautiously when he heard it.

A crack of twigs behind him.

He turned around just fast enough to see a glimpse of white disappear behind a tree.

The heavy beating of his heart was telling him to run the other way and never look back… but he did the exact opposite. He stepped closer, as silently as possible, and jumped in front of the tree.

"Ahh!" something white and small screamed.

John felt his heart rise into his throat.

But it was just a little kid. Sure the kid was pale beyond belief and dressed to match in a white shirt and dark trousers, but it was still just a kid. A kid who was quickly regaining his composure and straightening his back to glare up at John.

John couldn't stifle his laughter.

"I suppose you think it's funny to jump out at people, don't you?" asked the boy indigently.

"You were the one following me."

"Well you're trespassing. This is my forest!" said the little boy with a stomp at the ground. John managed a weak apology, finally remembering the stories his aunt had told him.

John's voice was very low as he asked, "You're the one they talk about. The one who haunts the forest?"

The boy managed a scoff and a sigh. His skin was so pale that it looked like it was shining in the moonlight. And even though he looked disappointed and angry, his blue eyes still managed to shine like the stars.

"So, you've heard the stories," said the boy with a show of arrogance as he folded his arms in front of his chest. "Which do you think I am, a ghost or a vampire?"

John didn't really think about it, he just blurted, "An elf."

The child did a double take. "Why?"

_Because you're too pretty_, John almost said out loud. "Umm… your ears, they look a bit pointy."

"Are not!" shrieked the little boy, covering his ears with his hands.

"No, no! I didn't mean it like that." John was stumbling over his words trying to convey how sincere he was. "I'm sorry."

"I hate you," said the shorter kid, and John felt like someone had just kicked him in the stomach. "You're supposed to be scared of me and run away!"

The little boy was pouting, and John felt much better about it. "Well I'm not scared of you. You're just a little kid." He ruffled the little boy's hair for good measure.

"Hey! You're just a little kid too. "

John laughed, "Yeah, but I'm taller than you."

The boy couldn't have been much younger than John himself, maybe just a year. But he was definitely acting his age. It was refreshing. John really felt like he was talking to someone real and fun.

"So why does everyone think you're a mythical creature, when you're really just a crazy kid?" John asked suddenly.

"You don't know that," the kid retorted defensively, "I could just be really good at pretending to be a kid."

John just raised his eyebrows in response.

The kid managed the most dramatic sigh that John had ever seen on someone so young, complete with an arm flail and stomp. "It's called Xeroderma pigmentosum. It's a genetic disorder that impairs the body's ability to repair damage caused by exposure to ultraviolet radiation."

John looked at him blankly, the words all sounded way too big coming from such a small body.

"It means I can't go out in the sun or I'll burn to death." The boy was definitely angry, and John had a feeling that he should change the subject and just research the thing when he got home. But the boy continued. "And that doesn't mean that I go around sucking people's blood, or eating them, or cursing them, or whatever other nonsense is going around these days!"

"No, you just creepy stalk them when they're in the forest." John couldn't resist a smirk.

"It wasn't creepy or stalking! It's just… you're hurt. And you're lost, right?"

The boy was looking down at the ground now, his pale face acquiring a most interesting shade of pink.

"I can help…" the boy said so softly that John wouldn't have been sure it had come from the kid at all, except that the boy suddenly took his hand and led him to a flat boulder at the base of a big tree. John sat down diligently and didn't say anything as the other boy worked.

John hadn't noticed before that the boy was carrying a small first aid kit, except that it looked more like a chemistry set than anything else. The boy removed a vial from the box and added absentmindedly, "Don't worry, it's just disinfectant."

"I'm not worried," John said honestly, and the boy continued to avoid his gaze while he worked.

It was really a simple matter of disinfecting John's knee, removing the dried dirt and bits of rock, cleaning it up with some water from a spray bottle, and then bandaging it up. Maybe it was because of the paleness, but John was sort of expecting cold rough fingers. Instead the boy's hands were warm and delicately careful.

No one had ever cared for John like that other than his mother. Not even his aunt or sister.

"My name is John, by the way. John―"

"Watson, yeah I know."

John tried not to jerk at the surprise. "How…?"

The boy sighed, but continued to fiddle with the gauze wrapping. "The initials on the inside of your shoe are JW. The only family names from around here that start with that letter are the Wilkins and the Winchesters. And none of their kids fit your age bracket. Then there's the fact that you don't seem like you're from around town, because most boys from around here would avoid the forest completely. Especially if they were on their own. So that must mean that this is your mother's town, as there aren't any tourists that visit this time of year. Your accent is also more Londoner than anyone here and the only 'maiden' who married into the city was Elizabeth Jameson, who, and I'm only quoting the gossip circles, 'Ran off with that Watson.' The Jamesons also live right next to the east end of the forest, which would have made it a lot easier for you to have gotten lost. So no… once again, I am Not stalking you."

John suddenly found himself at the receiving end of a very defiant stare. His mouth was also hanging open. "That was… That was amazing!"

It was the kid's turn to look surprised. "That's not what people usually say."

"What do people usually say?"

"Piss off."

And, true to their age, they both fell into a fit of hysterics at the mention of the curse word.

"My name is Sherlock. Sherlock Holmes," said the boy with a hint of awkwardness as he took a seat on the flat boulder beside John. "My family owns the woods. Our house is the one right at the edge of town."

"Wait, you mean the mansion?!"

Sherlock just shrugged his shoulders. No wonder he had such an odd name, the mansion looked ancient. But John though better of asking about Sherlock's family.

Instead he just asked, "So how come you know so much about the people here?"

Sherlock shrugged his shoulders again. "Well, it's a small town and I do a lot of walking around at night―"

"You mean sneaking."

"―so it helps to know about the people and their habits," the shorter boy continued without paying John's interruption any mind. Though John did detect a hint of a smile at his lips.

They fell into a comfortable silence after that, looking up at the moon and the stars. John sneaked a look at Sherlock and was momentarily startled. He'd never seen someone look so sad and wistful at the same time.

"What's wrong?"

Sherlock didn't exactly snap out of his reverie.

"Huh?"

"The sky… why do you look up at it like that?" John asked more clearly.

"Oh…that," Sherlock blushed a little and John wondered whether the tendency was linked to Sherlock's skin type or condition or something. "It's just fascinating, how my skin could be so sensitive to sun light… but then from this distance and when it's reflected off of the moon, it's okay."

Then John was completely surprised as Sherlock's face broke out into a most sincere smile. As he talked, his thin body practically radiated energy. "My favorite is the full moon. When it's big and round and fat! It looks almost exactly like the sun does… at least that's how it looks in pictures. I had my brother buy me extra special camera lenses that can pick out the sun's outline. Of course, he also had to take the pictures himself, but I can always bribe him with chocolate cake so it was okay. And it was just as I suspected. The sun is a bright white disc just like the moon is. Most people don't even look at the disc. Of course, I'm told that even healthy people aren't supposed to look at the sun, but I still would if I could. So when the moon's out I try to get as much of it as possible, you know. And there's something about the nighttime, especially in these woods that's just… magical."

John looked up at the moon, and then at Sherlock's smile. Yeah… it definitely felt magical.

Then Sherlock's smile started looking a bit embarrassed. But he still seemed eager to talk, like someone who'd been forced to live in silence for a long time and was finally getting a chance to speak. "I actually tried looking at it once. The sun, I mean. It was two years ago… it was six and I― I don't know. I just wanted to see the light with my own eyes. I ended up in the hospital for more than a month. If Mycroft hadn't been there, I might have gone blind."

He said it so casually, even grinning and raking his hand through his hair sheepishly.

"You're very brave," John said.

Sherlock looked stunned. "No one's ever said that to me before."

"Well you are. You're brave and you're smart and you're completely amazing."

John didn't know why he said it; he just felt that Sherlock needed it… that he'd needed it for a long time.

In a very small voice, Sherlock managed a weak "Thank you."

The moment wasn't very long this time, it wasn't so comfortable either. "Um… it's getting late for you isn't it? Your family might be worried." Sherlock told him suddenly and the effect was immediate.

John jumped up from the rock, cursing under his breath.

"Come on, I'll get you there in no time," said Sherlock with a failed attempt at sounding casual. John could sense the boy's sadness, and he felt it too. Sherlock took his hand without looking at him this time and just dragged him forwards. John went willingly, though his footing did drag. He wasn't nearly as eager to get back as he should have been.

Sherlock walked steadily through the forest as though he'd memorized every tree, root and stone, and John felt mesmerized every time he caught sight of the white moonlight playing in Sherlock's curls. Maybe he was a woodland elf after all.

When they got to the edge of the woods and John's aunt's house was in sight, John found himself lingering. He didn't know what else to say, "Thanks for the knee thing, by the way. You're very good at it."

"I get hurt a lot. My skin's sensitive and all that. So I learned to patch myself up." Sherlock said it so offhandedly, but that bothered John all the more. There was some vague notion in his head that no kid should ever have to patch up his own cuts. So John decided to learn a thing or two when he got home.

But for now, there was nothing more to say. John and Sherlock were looking down at their feet, their tongues tied. He just couldn't leave, couldn't bring a 'Goodbye' to his lips. He wanted to stay so badly, now that he'd finally managed to make a friend.

"You're leaving tomorrow, aren't you?" Sherlock asked.

"Yeah, we're going back to the city."

"Summer vacation's over, I guess."

John pulled himself together enough to meet the other boy's eyes. "Sherlock… I really wish I'd met you sooner."

After a long moment and a bit of blushing, Sherlock finally managed a weak, "Me too…."

But even as they stood there, the voices of John's family were now loud and clear. They were definitely looking for him.

As John ran towards the house, he turned abruptly and shouted, "I will see you again!"

But all he saw were trees, and he had no idea what the other boy's expression would be. He found himself thinking about it a lot, especially during those nighttime moments right before sleep.

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**A/N: I'm going for a more short and romantic approach with this and it's all mostly written out. So I'll update as soon as I get some feedback. Please review and tell me what you think. Thank you for reading and Enjoy the Full Moon tonight! **


	2. Chapter 2

It was another two years before he could visit the forest again.

His father had been home from the army the following summer and they'd all gone for vacation in France. It was fun, but John never could stop himself from thinking about Sherlock, especially on nights when the moon was big and round and fat.

And now he was finally here. He was ten years old and it was pure luck that his room at his aunt and uncle's house was on the ground floor and with a huge window. So the moment the sun set, he was off. For two weeks, he visited the forest every night looking for the strange boy he'd met, calling out his name and sitting on their boulder for hours, until he was starting to think that it must have just been his imagination the whole time.

Finally, he heard a familiar crack of twigs behind him.

"You've been stalking me," said a familiar voice, and Sherlock emerged from behind a tree two seconds later with a smirk on his face.

"I wasn't stalking!" John replied automatically.

"Yes you were. Your footsteps are all over the forest, even though it rained just three nights ago, so you've been coming here that often. You've been wearing the same boots too, and I can tell how old the mud on them is," Sherlock said smugly.

"You can't possibly tell that much," John said, trying not to sound too interested.

Sherlock just raised his eyebrows at him and pointed at the boots again. "I only observe. That caked mud is clearly several days old."

"You're brilliant, you know that," John said with a smile, despite himself.

"I know," and then more softly, he added, "Besides… I cheated. I've been watching you."

"Wait, have you been hiding from me all this time?" John asked, a little angry. But John's anger died in his throat when he saw Sherlock avoiding his gaze. "What is it?" he asked this time.

"I… I only got back two nights ago," he said awkwardly, "I was a bit worried that maybe you were just a figment of my imagination."

"Got back?"

If it were even possible, Sherlock looked even more uncomfortable. "I was in the hospital. One of the maids forgot to close a curtain… long story short, I got a few minor burns. It's nothing."

"Let me see," said John automatically, not without the sense of command he'd learned from living with a military man.

Sherlock obliged and slowly rolled up his sleeves to show him part of his bicep. To say that John was alarmed would be an understatement. "Sherlock! This was a second degree burn at least. How long were you in the sun exactly?"

"A couple of minutes maybe," Sherlock mumbled, slightly annoyed and slightly embarrassed. "It's not a big deal. Can we talk about something else? I haven't seen you in two years, this isn't exactly how I pictured our first real conversation to be."

John tried to show his genuine concern on his face as much as possible. "I'm sorry Sherlock, I know that you must hate talking about this… but I'm worried. Of course I'm worried. Imagine I came back with a broken leg; wouldn't you want to know what happened? Assuming, that you don't guess right away." That made Sherlock smile and relax a little. So John added, "And what do you mean the maid just forgot? Please talk to me."

"It's not her fault," Sherlock frowned. "I fell asleep under the dining table. She didn't know I was there, so she just opened the curtains as usual. Then I guess I just moved around in my sleep and part of my arm was in the sun. It only got so bad because I didn't wake up right away." Shyly he added, "I'm a heavy sleeper."

John tried to be angry at that… but couldn't find it in him. "And why exactly were you sleeping under the dining room table?"

Sherlock blushed a fierce shade of red, "Iwuzbulinafot" he blurted.

John raised an eyebrow, "What?"

With a very low voice, Sherlock said, "I was building a fort."

John smiled. "Next time, we build it together, okay?"

Sherlock smiled in return and they continued down the familiar path to the flat boulder and its giant tree companion. It was going to be a long walk, but Sherlock led them through the foliage with expert ease.

"Hey, I was wondering…" John began, "If XP is genetic then you must have had it all your life. So how come the people in town don't know who you are when they see you? Don't the kids know you from school?"

"XP, huh? You've been researching." Sherlock looked back at him long enough to reveal a proud smirk. "And you've given this a lot of thought. Good deductions, and you're asking the right questions."

"Deductions?"

"Yes. Deductions. Facts gathered from observation. Facts, mind you, not theories." Sherlock turned around to face him, his eyes glinting. He had a look that was so excited, it made John nervous. Sherlock was looking him up and down like he was a showpiece. "For example!" he announced, "Your family's run into a bit of money problems. Your shoes and trousers are a bit too old, from the discoloration and the wear. Your shoes are also a little bit small on you, because you're a bit uncomfortable while you walk; you try to walk on the soles of your feet so that your toe doesn't hurt at the front. And you wiggle your toes whenever we stop for a bit. Most likely, your parents can't afford a new pair and you're admirably trying to hide it. The recent money strain is your older sister's university fees. The school bag you're carrying is obviously a hand-me-down. The name 'Harry' is still written inside the handle. I'd say it's your brother, but the bag's color choice and decorative pins scream 'lesbian' not boy."

Sherlock wasn't even stopping for breath, and John had to stop himself from unconsciously wiggling his toes.

"And now there's the matter of the small wristband you're wearing. It's a tourist trinket, from France, most likely, given the colors. But it's been worn. You've been wearing it regularly all year. I'd say you even took it into the shower a couple of times, given the water stains. So it's obviously important to you. Not the thing itself, but the person who gave it to you. Someone special… And it was given to you while you were together on vacation. So age probability says family not friends. Add to that the way you hold yourself and your change in haircut and you've got a father in the military, away on duty."

Sherlock stopped finally, with a look of complete triumph on his face. John still had his eyebrows raised, surprised. Sherlock's smile faltered.

The longer the silence, the more panicked he looked. "Um… I'm sorry. I've been told it's not good to―"

"No, no, it's fine. Brilliant actually. You're completely brilliant!"

"Really?"

"Yeah. I was going to tell you all that stuff anyway. Saves time. Now it's your turn!"

Sherlock took a moment, shaking his head; he looked like he was trying to rearrange his thoughts. "Um… right…yes. The people and the kids… Why don't they recognize me? Well, that's simple. They don't know I exist."

"What?"

"Actually all they do know is that the Holmes's have a sickly son who stays at home. Which I do. But they have no reason to suspect that the same 'sickly' son goes gallivanting around the forest at night."

"So you don't go to school?"

"No." Sherlock said slowly but firmly, with a look of complete disgust on his face. "Not my cup of tea."

John took a moment to try and catch Sherlock's eye… but the boy was looking down and away. "There's something you're not telling me. You don't have to tell me, just know that you can."

But Sherlock didn't respond, nor did he look up. So John added, "Are you home schooled?"

"Yes. My mother and Mycroft – my brother – did most of the teaching until last year." Sherlock looked up finally, a hint of excitement back in his eyes. "Now they've finally allowed me to do my own research."

"How come?"

"Well I hardly need any more formal education past year 11, at least not for now. So I'm branching out!"

John tried not to show his surprise too much. He knew Sherlock was smart but… John coughed and shook his head. "What do you do exactly?"

This question was met with such a diabolical look of pure excitement that john had to take a step back. "Experiments!" Sherlock announced. "Come, I'll show you."

And thus, John was thrust into the most adventure-filled summer vacation conceivable.

They jumped into the forest's pond with goggles on, "Why?" John asked.

"I introduced a foreign chemical to the pond; I must assess the wildlife's reaction." John narrowed his eyes at that response. "Fine, fine! I dropped a can of coke in the water, happy?"

They climbed every type of tree at least twice, "I'm assessing tree sap's reaction to varying degrees of UV exposure."

After John explained the situation to his family, they had to begrudgingly allow him to spend his nights out. They surely didn't know that most of that time was spent in a dark and dangerous forest, but John had a feeling that his aunt, who knew all about the stories of the ghost child, at least suspected what the kids were up to. She didn't stop them though. Nothing could really.

It was lucky that the woods weren't big enough to attract large predators, though the boys could swear that they'd heard a wolf once.

They also spent hours at Sherlock's home when the weather wasn't too great. The mansion was huge. Sherlock had a whole wing to himself with tinted windows and heavy curtains, complete with an indoor playground, swimming pool, garden and a mini football pitch. They tried the football pitch only once and Sherlock got too frustrated with all the running, so John spared him any future torture. They did discover that the football pitch was a great place to conduct more physical experiments, "So you want me to run around with sunscreen and then without it, and measure my sweat levels?" – "Exactly!"

Most of the experiments took place in Sherlock's lab, which could have easily been the biggest lab John had ever seen. It was filled with all sorts of equipment and gadgets, microscopes of different sizes, and beakers… lots and lot of beakers of every single size and shape imaginable. There were also a lot of specialized lighting equipment. He asked Sherlock if it was safe for him to be around the lights… but Sherlock just shrugged it off saying that the lights were crucial to his experiments on UV radiation, obviously he couldn't study UV radiation without UV lights! But then John caught him without his gloves while one of the lights was turned on. Sherlock had been so completely absorbed in monitoring something in the microscope that he hadn't been aware of his skin starting to blister.

"Sherlock!"

"Oh, this is nothing, it's okay."

"No it's not! You're hurt and it could have been worse." John spoke delicately, his voice heavy with worry as he took Sherlock's blistered hand into his own.

He deftly pulled out a small first aid kit from his school bag, which at this point was mostly filled with experiment notations and various samples Sherlock had asked him to keep from their various treks. John led them to the living room sofa and sat Sherlock down so he could take care the injury with as much care as possible, disinfecting the area, applying some cold water and lotion, then wrapping it in a thin gauze once it was cooled down.

"When did you learn first aid?"

"Right after I met you. You said you injure easily, so… yeah."

Sherlock was blushing when John looked up. He felt his own faced get warmer and dropped Sherlock's hand gently onto the sofa.

John coughed and asked, "So how come you've got all that UV equipment? And a lab, for that matter…?"

"It was my mother's," Sherlock explained "But she's off in Switzerland for more heavy duty research. It's been her obsession to find a cure ever since father died."

John didn't ask the obvious question and let Sherlock continue. "Mycroft got a job with the government this year too, so he's been in London most of the time," and then he turned and gave John a most sincere smile, "Honestly John, if you hadn't shown up, I might've just died from boredom!"

"Don't even joke about that!" John snapped. But the sincere look in Sherlock's eyes held him for a moment too long and he found himself looking away. Just to have something to say, he asked, "Why don't you go to school? Must be slightly more entertaining."

"Oh please, you've seen the place. Dreary and nauseating," Sherlock scoffed, "Can't see any real knowledge being passed down in such ridiculous confines, where everyone's more worried about the people than the actual books."

John took a deep breath before asking softly, "So you have been to school?"

Sherlock's looked like he was trying very hard to appear casual, but there was a strain to his voice as he spoke. "I attended for about two years… then there was an incident and we all decided home schooling was the better option."

John placed a reassuring hand on Sherlock's own burned one. "What happened?" he asked softly.

"I was six and we were living in France, near one of my mum's labs." Sherlock took a deep breath and leaned his head back against the sofa edge, looking up at the ceiling with a faraway gaze. His voice was barely over a whisper. "A bunch of kids thought it would be funny to steal my hat and coat. They kept throwing them back and forth to each other out in the playground. By the time I gave up trying to get them back, the damage had been done. I'd also missed the bus, so I had to walk halfway home too. I was so angry I didn't even notice the burns, because I have thick hair… I only noticed when I tried to scratch my head and it came back bloody. I had severe scalp burns and…" Sherlock looked at John now with a lopsided smile and announced, "Basically, school gave me cancer!"

John felt like crying, but he forced himself to laugh. He smiled with all his heart when Sherlock joined him.

He never asked Sherlock about school again, but he did complain about his own school. Sherlock helped him out with some of his summer homework. John even managed to conduct a really interesting experiment involving bacteria cultures from the forest for his science project.

All in all, it was the best summer of his life and he couldn't wait for the next year.

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**A/N: Thank you for reading, your feedback would be wonderful. Also, I'm wondering if they sound young enough or OC in any way...? Have a great day :)**


	3. Chapter 3

When the boys were apart, they started a tradition. It was John's idea. Phones and internet were too normal for them, of course, and this was completely their own.

He'd been looking at a particularly beautiful sunset one day and he just thought…_I wish Sherlock could see this._ So he took a picture. And then by the end of the month he had more than a dozen pictures of sunsets and white orbs hiding behind grey clouds. He called up his aunt and asked her to get the address of the Holmes estate. He mailed all the pictures the very next day. He'd taken the pictures with his mum's old Polaroid, and on the back of each one he spontaneously wrote out his thoughts at the time.

The next month John got two packages. One was a brand new high-tech camera and an instant printer linked up, with the note 'Mycroft insisted.' The other package was a bunch of high-resolution pictures of the moon through the woods. It was painfully familiar and beautiful. And Sherlock echoed his sentiment on the back of each photograph, in his own way of course. He wrote down the precise temperature and the humidity. The images of the moonlight on the lake included tadpole growth states, while tree photos included bark analysis and precise scientific names that John could barely read. He even sent a video when there was a particularly magical meteor shower. John played the video over and over again every night and couldn't justify it to himself other than to say that this was his only connection to his best friend.

And every month there'd be a photo of just the full moon in the sky with a single line scribbled on the back.

'I wish you were here.'

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**A/N: Just a small interlude to brighten up everyone's Monday. Enjoy and tell me what you think :) The next chapter has a lot more... everything. So stay tuned and thanks for reading!**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Sorry for the long wait, but I wanted this chapter to coincide with a near moonless night, so without further ado: Enjoy!**

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John had asked his parents once if he could attend school in the country where his aunt lived. His parents had only laughed softly, telling him that the school there was way too expensive. Turns out, it wasn't that impossible. When John's father died in action overseas, and John's mother was declared an unfit parent, John found himself moving to live with his aunt and uncle anyway.

John was 12, and he'd never felt worse in his whole life.

When he finally found himself in his favorite summer spot, John was only sad and disappointed. Whatever was beautiful and mysterious about this place, now looked like a nightmare confronting him with vicious taunts, 'This is what you wanted, isn't it?'

But John never wanted this and he prayed every night that his mother would get out of rehab soon and take him home. He tried not to pray for his father coming back… but he always ended up talking to him anyway.

For two months, John refused to go into the woods. It was his penance and punishment for ever wishing to live here…. But after two months of sitting inside of a small room with a big window, John decided the view just wasn't enough. He waited till sundown and ran into the trees as fast as his feet could take him.

He ran until his sides hurt and then ran some more.

When he finally came across his friend's familiar outline, he stopped only long enough to catch his breath.

"John?! Are you al―"

Till this day, John can't really understand what came over him. One second he was looking at Sherlock's concerned face, and in the next he had his face buried in Sherlock's white shirt. He had launched himself at the other boy desperately.

They had never hugged each other, and maybe they were making up for lost time, but that one embrace felt infinite. It wasn't until that moment that John understood what he'd been looking for since his father died. He had needed this. He had needed his best friend, Sherlock Holmes.

John cried that night and Sherlock held him through it, rubbing his shoulders and listening more attentively than ever. John spoke about his father and his mother. He spoke about how finding her collapsed in the kitchen in a pool of her own vomit was so much worse than seeing his father's coffin. He spoke about how much she cried that first couple of weeks, until it seemed that everything in her had just dried up. Her eyes looked dead now.

Then softly, barely more than a whisper, John spoke of his own guilt.

"I always wanted to come live here. I used to wish on it… you know, looking up at the stars and stuff… I used to wonder if you were doing the same thing and I just― I can't help think that I did this. I wished for―"

"No!" Sherlock interrupted him, something wild and furious in his bright blue eyes. "This is not your fault. Your parents chose the course of their lives; they knew what they were doing. If you blame yourself, then you take away their choice. What happened, happened. And none of it is your fault!"

John was stunned into silence by the weight of Sherlock's words and the fury in those eyes. But behind the fury was also a sadness. Sherlock was here for him, feeling his pain and sharing it with him. Then it finally dawned on him… that wanting to be near his friend, _this_ friend, was the most honest wish he'd ever had, and there was nothing wrong or ugly about it.

He smiled for the first time in months and hugged his friend again. Without the desperation, it felt warm and… for lack of a better word: nice. When he finally let go, Sherlock was looking down at his feet, a deep blush across his cheeks.

It peeked John's curiosity, but it also made his own cheeks burn red. "I―I think I should go now. My aunt and uncle have been used to me just sulking around in my room… they might think that I've gone and done something stupid…"

John let the words hang and felt stupider than ever. Why was it awkward all of a sudden? Sherlock managed a weak 'Goodbye' and John left before he could think about it too much. But at the end of the night – or early morning really – he felt happier than he'd felt in a long long time.

The next day, John and Sherlock were shirtless and waist deep in the forest's pond trying to catch tadpoles. It was effortless to pick up where they'd left off. The water was freezing, and they ran all the way back to Sherlock's house, laughing with all their hearts. They dripped water all over the living room carpet and huddled together near the fire.

Once his teeth had stopped chattering, John said quietly, "You're taller than me now."

"And you've joined the rugby team," Sherlock said with a smile.

"You've got a bunch of new freckles; you're not being careful."

"You got injured in one of your games…dislocated shoulder?"

John nodded, but didn't have any more observations to throw back. Instead, he whispered, "I missed you."

"Me too," came a whispered reply as they watched the fire dance, throwing shadows across them both.

The next two months, John was a bit too busy trying to start out school on a good note. Sherlock helped of course, but the school schedule meant that they couldn't spend too much time hanging out at night. It was also the time that Sherlock's brother Mycroft was in town. John only ever spoke to him a couple of times, as Sherlock forbade more direct contact. Mycroft was a Holmes though, and he managed to take John aside one day while Sherlock was otherwise occupied with algae samples. But when Mycroft asked very nicely that John be careful with Sherlock, John retorted automatically that maybe Mycroft should be around more to take care of his brother himself.

The silence was heavy, but Mycroft finally replied, "My mother and I have dedicated our lives to Sherlock. It may not be obvious at first, but it's what we've always been doing. I don't know if Sherlock has ever told you, about his incident in school...?" When John nodded briefly, Mycroft continued, "We weren't able to press charges against the institution or the boys, because one of them happened to be very well connected. Since that day, I endeavored to make sure that that would never happen again. That my brother would always have everything he might ever need, right at his fingertips, without measly rules getting in the way."

Mycroft looked down at the black umbrella he was carrying, and was silent. John looked down at it too… lost in thought. John asked slowly, "You always carry that around with you?"

"…Yes."

"It's for Sherlock, isn't it?"

Mycroft's eyebrows shot up into his forehead. And then the edge of his lips turned up slightly, "You have acquired some of my brother's skill… impressive. Your defense of him is equally impressive and I thank you for it." He bowed his head slightly, but right before leaving the room, he said loudly, with his back turned, "My brother is in your care. Keep an eye on him for us…Please."

Once Sherlock heard of the conversation, he was furious, but John assured him that it was all okay. After that though, the boys had little opportunity for nighttime adventures. John had to be home by ten, and needed at least a couple of hours studying each night… Sherlock was not pleasant when sulking. John didn't blame him one bit. So it was with great excitement that they finally got a weekend to themselves. Sherlock had a bunch of experiments planned out and by one o'clock Sunday morning, they were both completely drained.

They were stretched out on their flat boulder, gazing up at the stars through the evergreen leaves, hands barely touching, but comfortably close.

"John…" Sherlock asked slowly, "Do you have a girlfriend back in the city?"

"Um… I did." John said hesitantly. Somehow he felt like this was something he never wanted to talk to Sherlock about. "Her name was Mary… but we broke it off around the time my dad died. It was just too hectic for me to think of things like that."

"But you liked her?" Sherlock's voice was detached and faraway. John found himself swallowing loudly.

"I guess… we could talk easily enough. Much more easily than some of the other—" but John cut himself off as Sherlock suddenly whirled his head around to frown at him.

John tried to explain more, but only found himself feeling more and more awkward. "There was Jeanette and Sarah before that… but only for a short while. Just a couple of movies and walks after school. Nothing serious."

"But Mary was serious?"

"Um… I don't know. I don't think so… it didn't last, right?"

Sherlock didn't reply. He just turned to look up at the sky again.

John looked up too and, hoping to get out of the spotlight, he asked quietly "Uh…What about you?"

In an even and casual voice, Sherlock replied "Well there was a girl who used to follow me around back at the French school. She was British too, so I guess we bonded. Molly Hooper… I wonder where she is now?" he asked the stars. John could feel his heart rate pick up a frenzied rhythm. After a pause that was way too long, Sherlock added, "And then there's Irene."

"Irene?" John asked, his voice croaking.

Sherlock didn't reply right away, instead he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. The beeping and clicking was horribly loud in the night. Finally, Sherlock pulled up a picture on his screen of the most beautiful young woman John had ever seen. She looked like an angel, but had the grin of mischievous girl, not unlike Sherlock himself actually… John swallowed very hard, trying to keep his mouth from going completely dry. _They would look perfect together,_ John thought to himself, his heart climbing into his throat. He couldn't help but notice that the picture was part of a very very long thread of emails.

They were quiet after that. And John's head was starting to hurt from all the thoughts running rampant against his skull.

"You're upset," Sherlock observed quietly, "Your pulse has been erratic since the whole 'girlfriend' conversation. Did I say something wrong?"

John tried and failed miserably, at calming down his heart rate. If anything, it increased even more. "No…no…nothing wrong. I guess I'm surprised, just, that's all…I didn't know about Irene," John managed to say, his tongue jumbling up some of the words.

"What about Irene?" Sherlock asked with a hint of impatient anger.

"I just didn't know!" John defended.

"What does it matter, about Irene?"

"Of course it matters, it's important!"

"No, it isn't."

John anger was bubbling over, though a part of him couldn't understand why he was angry in the first place. The rest of him just couldn't understand any of it. John bolted up from his stretched out position to glare down at Sherlock, "Why didn't you tell me? All those moonlit photos – not once did you mention her. I'm your best friend, I should know!"

Sherlock bolted upright as well, blue eyes blazing brightly "That's a bit hypocritical! Don't you think? You have a dozen girlfriends back home that I know nothing about, and you're pissed at me for not telling you about a pen-pal?"

John heart managed to skip a beat, "Wait... so she's not…?"

"No, she's not my girlfriend!" Sherlock shouted back at him. "They're not really my area."

John only managed a single, "Oh…" before a wave of complete relief washed over him. He felt like his insides had all shifted around in his anger and now they were settling back into completely new places. As if in a daze, John lowered his back onto the rock. He starred up at the stars, trying desperately to make sense of his emotions.

But Sherlock was still upright and very much angry, "You want to explain your tantrum?"

John didn't know what to say at first, but as he looked up at the bright stars, feeling Sherlock's bright blue gaze on him like a physical force, John finally found his words. "I guess… when my dad died, I felt a million miles away from everyone. All of them. Except you, even though you were the only one who was actually far away…." John managed a weak laugh, but continued, his voice very small in the darkness. "It's silly – I guess I was just jealous… that maybe I wasn't the most important person in your life. I'm sorry it's stupid. I'm being selfish and I―"

But Sherlock placed a single finger at John's lips. His eyes were so round and his frown was deep and thoughtful. "John…" he said quietly, and John had never heard his name spoken with such tenderness and care. "John, you're my only friend. You're my only…anything really. Without you… everything else is just so dark."

John felt his heart well up like a giant bubble in his chest, it was painful and achingly sweet, but it was all consuming all the same. John had to decrease the pressure of it somehow. He laughed softly and asked with a mischievous grin, "So I'm your Candle in the Dark?"

Sherlock frowned immediately. "I don't understand," he admitted, slightly annoyed.

"I know you're not a huge fan of sentiment, but it was my parent's wedding song and―"

"A song?!" Sherlock asked incredulously.

"Here, give me your phone." And while John looked up the song through the wireless connection, he felt his cheeks begin to burn as he remembered the lyrics. Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to play the song to Sherlock… but then again, it also felt like the most brilliant idea ever.

The song loaded and John raised the volume, his heart in his hands. Sherlock's frown remained in place as the first verse was sung, though his body did seem to be swaying in tune. But midway through the second verse, Sherlock's eyes were as round as saucers.

I wanna kiss your smile

And feel the pain

I know what's beautiful

Looking at you

In a world of lies

You are the truth

A look of fear flashed across Sherlock's face, thinking perhaps that maybe he was being made fun of, but then John smiled and a comfortable ease settled between them full of honesty and truth. The song spoke the words they could not yet say.

I wanna make you see

Just what I was

Show you the loneliness

And what it does

You walked into my life

To stop my tears

Sherlock was smiling now, eyes bright and slightly wet. He stopped the song midway and slowly took the phone from John's hands. He clicked and tapped for what felt like hours, until he managed to download the song and keep it on loop.

Everything's easy now

I have you here

Sherlock stood up, looking at the sky with his arms stretched out. He looked completely at peace, his smile sincere and infinitely soft. His frame began to sway gently, his hair highlighted by moonlight, his skin alight. And John was treated to the most beautiful sight he had ever witnessed. It was a most natural movement, Sherlock dancing under the moonlight.

I'll make you safe

No matter where you are

And bring you

Everything you ask for

Nothing is above me

John stood up too, though he knew nothing of dancing. He stretched out his hand and Sherlock took it and placed his other hand at John's shoulder. When John held Sherlock's waist, they both felt the moment swell into something wonderful and real.

In a world without you

I would always hunger

All I need is your love to make me stronger

John remembered their time apart with newfound understanding. He felt a bit stupid, for taking this long. But some things just needed time. With Sherlock in his arms like this, nothing felt more right.

I'm shining like a candle in the dark

When you tell me that you love me

They danced together for hours until Sherlock's phone battery finally died out. At four o'clock in the morning they were lying down on their rock. It was just like that first time… except this time their hands were linked and Sherlock's face was buried against John's shoulder. It felt infinitely warm and perfect.

"It's getting late. I should get you indoors," John said drowsily.

"It's still early," mumbled Sherlock. "It'll be fine as long as we don't fall asleep."

But with the song still echoing in their minds and with their hearts filled with the joy of never wanting the night to end… the boys fell asleep anyway.

The next day, John woke up to the best feeling in the world, followed closely by the worst. He smiled when the first thing he saw upon waking was Sherlock's calm and peaceful face, nuzzled up against his chest. And then he saw the blue lightness of the sky and his heart stopped beating. The sun was well on its way to rising completely.

"Sherlock!" he called out, desperately trying to wake up his friend. Sherlock immediately knew what was wrong. He looked around in a panic, his mind obviously trying to come up with some kind of response.

"Can we make it back to your house?"

"No," said Sherlock. And John never knew that a single words could sound like the end of the world.

"What about my house?" John asked desperately.

"That's even farther away."

John stood up quickly, and dragged Sherlock along with him. He looked around quickly, and Sherlock seemed to be on the same wavelength, because he sat against the edge of the boulder, his back to the sun.

John paced around him a couple of times, looking up at the impending sunrise every other second. Finally, the white disc crept up over the tops of the high mountains, and John never felt more afraid in his life.

"Lie down," he commanded. And Sherlock did as he was told. He lay in the space where the boulder met the earth, and thankfully he was so thin that his frame was completely hidden by the edge of rock. John sat next to him, trying to mask his face, knowing that the boulder and even the tree, would do little good when the sun was finally overhead. He thought to himself that surely someone would find them before noon, but then he remembered that Mycroft was in a meeting all the way in Cambridge, and they couldn't call anyone because their only phone was dead. His heart sank.

Behind him, Sherlock was shaking, his eyes wide open, darting left and right.

"I'm so stupid," said Sherlock, his voice thin and weak, "You said we should get inside. Why didn't I listen?"

"No!" John insisted. "Don't you dare start blaming yourself. I'm the one who's supposed to protect you. 'Make you safe'… we spent three hours listening to the song and I couldn't remember that obvious line!"

Sherlock laughed softly, though it was a distant sound, it was better than nothing. "I think we were a little too busy thinking about the other lyrics."

John laughed with him, if only to keep the atmosphere up. They talked about mostly useless things, John talked about school, Sherlock recited the table of elements, they played I-spy, threw random multiplication questions at each other, and John even tried singing part of their song. Only once, John asked if he should go get help and come back. But Sherlock's resounding, "No!" was filled with so much fear and panic that the possibility was completely dismissed. "I know it's a logical solution," Sherlock explained, his voice tiny behind John's back, "But I can't be alone right now…please."

Their quiet conversations completely stopped when the sun began to make its way through the sky. The shadow of the boulder was getting smaller and smaller, and Sherlock's eyes were looking at the shadow's edge like it was a poisonous snake. Never before had John fully realized the sheer magnitude of Sherlock's condition. Never before had he felt so helpless.

Suddenly, just when he was imagining himself throttling the shadow as though it were a physical entity, John got an idea. In the blink of an eye, he was lying down facing Sherlock; his body was halfway inside the shadow and halfway out. Soon that wouldn't be enough.

"Sherlock," he said tentatively, trying to hold Sherlock's attention. "Sherlock, I'm going to lie on top of you now, okay?"

The sheer strangeness of the question seemed to jolt Sherlock out of his panic. It wasn't long before he understood John's intention, and he nodded slowly.

So John awkwardly placed his body between Sherlock and the sun. He hoped against hope that this plan of his would at least shield Sherlock from the direct sunlight and offer him some measure of comfort. But he could feel the thin boy shaking beneath him. As the sun became visible overhead, John had to bark at Sherlock to close his eyes. Sherlock did, but not before looking at John with the most desperate expression John had ever seen on another human being.

"John, I'm scared."

Sherlock twisted his fingers into John's shirt like he was gripping on for dear life. He tried to bend his legs and arms around John and underneath him, trying desperately to hide them from the sun. Never before had John hated being short more that in that instant. Beneath him, Sherlock looked so young and small, and John felt his heart break with the hopelessness.

Sherlock's lower lip was trembling, so John did the only thing he could think of to stop it.

He kissed Sherlock, wholeheartedly and with as much reassurance as was possible in a chaste kiss.

Sherlock didn't respond, but his trembling did stop. His breathing evened out as John whispered over and over again, "It's going to be alright."

Mycroft found them shortly after, with his black umbrella and a gaze that held equal measure of both fury and complete fear. He was accompanied by several of the housemaids carrying large black blankets, and after a lot of coaxing and reassurance, Sherlock was finally able to walk home with them.

He was admitted to a local hospital at sundown and John was turned away from the room.

To his complete and utter bewilderment, he was disallowed from seeing Sherlock for the following week, even though he went to the hospital and the Holmes residence every day. Mycroft wouldn't even talk to him, sending out guards to dismiss him instead.

So it was with great anger and frustration and worry, that John found himself looking up at the ceiling of his room the following weekend, completely unable to sleep, when a knock came at his window.

It was Sherlock.

And he was smiling widely.

John jumped up to open the latch, and Sherlock climbed in easily enough.

"I was so worried about you but―"

Sherlock seized either side of John's face and kissed him. And suddenly, all the worry and the fear John had been feeling all week melted away with that single touch of tender flesh against tender flesh. Sherlock's mouth was warm and silky soft, and his fingers were deliciously cold as they made their way into John's hair. John kissed back with the enthusiasm of a drowning man, his teenage hormones kicking into full gear. Sure they were only twelve… but this was a long way coming. He wrapped his arms round Sherlock's waist and deepened their kiss, opening his mouth and welcoming the taste of his best friend on his lips. Sherlock kissed with a wondrous curiosity, and John just relished in the feeling of having the other boy near him at all, so alive and well.

Finally, when they were forced to stop for breath, John explained, "Mycroft didn't let me see you at all, Even though I tried to sleep outside the hospital, his men just carried me off."

"He's being stupid," Sherlock said dismissively. Then he smiled at John wholeheartedly, "You saved my life."

"But are you alright?"

"Yes, yes. The hospital stay was more for checkup purposes than anything else. My hands blistered up a bit but that was more because of the walk home than anything else, you did an excellent job of protecting them." Sherlock announced proudly. But it was only now that John saw how Sherlock's wrist and palm were wrapped in gauze.

"I said, it's nothing!" Sherlock said impatiently. "Minor scarring at most―"

"Minor scarring?!"

"It's nothing, please. It could have been a million times worse and I don't want to think about it." Sherlock's eyes were wide and imploring. John nodded, but placed small kisses on Sherlock's wrists regardless. Sherlock blushed and continued, "Other than that, I got nothing more than the average British sunburn, which was nothing a little aloe vera couldn't bring down," Sherlock announced.

John frowned. "Why do I have a feeling that you're excited about this 'British sunburn' of yours?"

Sherlock laughed in response, "Like you weren't ever curious about what I'd look like with a tan."

"No actually, I like my men pale and mysterious and creeping up on people in the middle of a dark forest."

"For the last time, I wasn't creeping!"

The night was spent in pleasant conversation, just enjoying each other's company, and from time to time, each other's warmth. They slept together that night, side by side on the bed, that is. With the simple pleasure of being able to hold each other and touch one another, with soft kisses on soft skin, exploring and loving.

In the morning, John woke up with the biggest smile on his face. But Sherlock was looking up at the ceiling with a faraway look that John had begun to associate with impending doom. He rubbed his eyes and asked tentatively, "What's wrong?"

"John. Remember when I told you that my mother's off trying to find a cure?"

"Yes. You said it had something to do with your father," John said slowly.

"He had my condition too, and he died at 33 because of it. Not from too much sun exposure or anything – though he did spend more time out during the day for business purposes – but in the end, it was just other complications associated with Xeroderma Pigmentosum, not the thing itself," His voice was very low and with a sort of depth one would never expect from a teenager. And now Sherlock turned to look at him, with wide serious eyes, "John, I don't want to die in my thirties. I don't want to die in my forties either."

Just the thought of Sherlock's death was enough to tie John's stomach in knots. He'd read somewhere that people with XP rarely live past 40, but he'd always assumed that that was a problem he didn't have to worry about.

"My mother thinks she's found something," said Sherlock, and John's chest filled with hope. "It's not a cure exactly, but something to make it more bearable, like a treatment course."

And finally, the doom was revealed. "It's a four year treatment, and I'd have to be in Switzerland with my mother." John's world suddenly became very very small, but he didn't interrupt as Sherlock continued. "That night and even the day that followed, made me realize a lot about myself… and about you… and John, if I can have a chance at living a normal life with you, I want to take it."

"I understand," John nodded and was surprised to find tears blurring his vision. "If there's a chance we can grow old together… I want it too."

He tried to smile, but in the end settled for burying his face in Sherlock's shirt.

"Will you–?" Sherlock began to ask, but his voice broke and he hesitated. John looked up to find tears in the taller boy's eyes as well. As their eyes connected, Sherlock finally regained his courage. "Will you wait for me?"

John smiled and kissed him on the lips.

"I promise," he whispered.

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**A/N: Phew! A lot of meat in one chapter, I hope it wasn't too much. But I wanted to keep the chapters cut up by age. Please tell me what you think :) This is my first time including a Song in a fic, so I'm a bit shy about it. It's called, "When you tell me that you love me" by Diana Ross - It fits them nicely I think. Please Review and have a great day :D**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Another Short Interlude everyone. We're almost at the end - The last chapter will be released on the Full Moon :) Stay tuned! **

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When John's mother was finally out of rehab, he had to think long and hard before he refused to go back and live with her. He was 14, and his opinion didn't count for much in the adult world, but he tried his best anyway.

"I'm waiting for someone…"

He tried to explain his life with Sherlock as much as possible, and his mother calmed down at some point and began to really listen. His voice choked as he explained what happened that day in the sun, and he didn't even think of hiding the kissing from her. He talked about their goodbye and about the promise, and his mother's face remained strangely impassive.

Finally, after a long pause, she silently stood up and placed her hands on her son's shoulders. Her expression was more than serious.

"When I met your father, I knew that he was a soldier. I knew that if we got together, I'd be spending most of my time waiting. But knowing something is different than living it. I thought it would all be worth it, when he finally came home… but he didn't. I'm not saying that it wasn't worth it. I'm just saying that it's very hard—"

Her voice broke, and John murmured a quiet, "I understand," to reassure her.

"I'm not in any position to lecture you after all that I've done," she continued, her voice heavy, "I know it was hard for you to see me go through it, and I don't ever want you to feel pain like that. You're just so young John. I don't want you to feel as sad as I did."

"But I… I love him."

His mother hugged him then, with tears rolling down her eyes and soaking his shirt. "You're my baby boy, but you're a lot stronger than I am. I know you'll be happy."

His mother surprised him two months later. She rented out their flat in London and moved into a small cottage near her sister's. "You took care of me while I waited; now it's my turn," she said.

Her sincerity brought tears to his eyes, and John finally felt like he wasn't alone in this.

It was another two years before Sherlock came back.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N Warning: a very very mild sex scene... not sure it even counts, Enjoy!**

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When they met at the airport, Sherlock was taller and more beautiful than ever, while John was stronger and more handsome. They kissed with everyone watching, and a few people even clapped.

Sherlock's treatment had worked to a degree. His skin was more resilient and his immune system was boosted up considerably. It was a treatment designed to make his body as healthy as humanly possible. While Sherlock's skin would forever remain allergic to the sun, the rest of his body was more equipped to deal with the UV radiation's effects, which would hopefully lengthen his expected lifespan considerably, if nothing else.

With the courage derived from the treatment's success, John and Sherlock decided to attend sixth form together, though Sherlock had to technically dumb himself down for the entrance exams. No amount of schoolwork however, could stop the boys from their nighttime adventures in the forest, which acquired a whole new avenue of exploration involving various physical activities under trees and under moonlight.

During the day, Sherlock hid his hands inside leather gloves and wore a coat and hat to school. People tended to make fun of the hat most of all, that is, until John threatened to punch their faces in. Sherlock tried to wear the gloves when they were alone too, but John wouldn't have it. He took off the gloves himself and kissed each finger and then both wrists and both palms. When he looked up, Sherlock was tearing up, so John kissed away the tears.

They made love for the first time that night, and it was magical, just as all their meetings had been. Doused in moonlight, his curls tipped with bright silver light, his eyes shining, Sherlock was the most beautiful thing John had ever seen.

"I lied," John found himself saying. Sherlock frowned. "That first time we met… I said you looked like an elf because your ears were pointed."

"I remember," Sherlock said softly.

"I lied. It was just the first thing that came to mind… because of how beautiful you are."

Sherlock laughed and planted tiny kisses all over John's face with childish abandon. "I lied too…" he whispered breathlessly. "I didn't hate you… I was just afraid of how much I liked you already."

"You can't have liked me already! We were what…? Eight?"

"I did. You're the first person who looked at me… and you didn't run or flinch. You were just there. Laughing!" Sherlock held John's face in his hands and looked deeply into his eyes. "You were there and you saved my life. You saved my life in so many ways John." His voice was low and cracking at the edges. "When I was born, they told my mother I wouldn't survive past my tenth birthday. But then you came along, and you gave me a reason to want to wake up in the morning."

John made love to him like a mad man after that. And just when John thought he couldn't hold himself back anymore and he felt the tides of pleasure begin to overtake him, Sherlock said, "I love you John." And John never felt more alive.

Afterwards, as he held Sherlock to him, he whispered "I love you" a thousand times before the sun came up. They watched it through the tinted windows, with John draped protectively over the man of his dreams, his best friend, his everything.

A more perfect moment could not exist, but John knew that there were many more to come.

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**A/N: And that's the end of that - Enjoy the Full Moon and please tell me what you think :) Any comments about this chapter and the story as a whole would be very very welcome! Thanks for reading, and if there's a high demand for a follow up series, it would be my pleasure. So be vocal about it, if that's what you want ;) **


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